


Signed, Sealed and Delivered

by NoelleAngelFyre



Series: Steal My Heart (It's Already Yours) [5]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Barry is not putting up with this, Barry is romantic enough for both of them, Date nights which are ruined by drunk college girls, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Smut, KillerWave (implied/background), Least romantic proposal in history, Len may not be a romantic but Barry doesn't care, Len was innocent (for once), M/M, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, The smut is strong with these two, banter and snark, bottom!len, coldflash - Freeform, goldenvibe (background), jealous!Barry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: This wasn't even Len's fault.____________________________________Date night goes sour when some girl tries to get cozy with Len.  Barry is NOT having it.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Caitlin Snow/Mick Rory (implied/background), Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart (background)
Series: Steal My Heart (It's Already Yours) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758994
Comments: 9
Kudos: 280





	Signed, Sealed and Delivered

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE (8/27/20): I have made some minor revisions to this piece after giving it a bit of careful consideration. Nothing overall has changed; most of the changes are dialogue-related with a extra bit of introspection stirred. Comments, as always, are love.

“Barry – _Barry_ —” Gloved fingers lock around the nearest surface – in this case, the kitchen counter – while Len grits his teeth, “Jesus, kid, just…just calm down.”

Wrong thing to say, apparently. But then again, Len isn’t convinced he’s actually said the right thing all night.

“I _am_ calm.” Barry growls – and, oh yes, he’s the poster boy for calmness: hazel eyes blown so dark there’s barely a sliver of the natural color left to be seen, brow furrowed in a sharp line, snarling every word while his hands make a point of clawing Len’s clothing out of the way like it’s his life-goal to have the older man naked in his kitchen. The water glass, proof that Len came in here with perfectly legitimate intentions, sits neglected on the counter about half a foot from his right hand.

“Barry, would you just – _Jesus!_ – would you just stop and take a breath?”

“No.”

“Barry—”

“NO.”

Len briefly contemplates how much damage it would cause if he bashed his own head into the wall, then Barry’s hand is down his pants and the thought makes an abrupt departure. “Barry—Barry!” his body is a traitor, eagerly leaning into the kid’s touch, while all remaining brain function is scrambling to remember how to use words, “Damn it, Barry – just calm down! She wasn’t even my type.”

And again…wrong thing to say.

“You’re damn right, she wasn’t your _type_!!” Barry shoves himself right in Len’s space and attacks the neck with a short series of blossoming marks which, naturally, are too high for a normal neckline to hide, “I’ll _show_ you what your type is!”

Len has a split-second warning before they leave the kitchen behind and he’s tossed unceremoniously on the bed. Barry’s bed. This has all the makings of a very awkward situation: they’re in Barry’s apartment, and Barry has neighbors, and Barry looks ready to thoroughly _wreck_ Len out of severely misplaced jealousy.

This wasn’t even Len’s fault. For once, he is entirely innocent and without blame for this situation. It was Lisa’s idea to go to the damn club in the first place, dragging Len and Mick along for her haphazard idea of a ‘triple date’ (translation: she got dolled up to seduce Cisco Ramon, again, and everyone else was dragged along for the ride). Doctor Snow was three shots in when all inhibitions failed and Len can already see the way Mick is going to preen in the morning, that the good doctor tossed her good-girl halo aside and climbed into his lap without a hint of concern for the viewing audience. Cisco was dragged off to regions unknown within the hour, which left Barry and Len to turn a ‘triple date’ into a ‘kinda date’. The club scene isn’t their idea of a good time, and they could have just left right then and there, if not for—

“Barry!!” his voice comes out nearly a yelp – _nearly_ , and anyone who says it was, in fact, a true yelp will be shot dead-center with his cold gun, “Barry, hold on – just stop for two seconds and get a—” no, don’t say ‘grip’ – that’s an open door for Barry to walk straight through, “Just breathe, kid. Please. I know you’re pissed, but chill.”

The pun might not be any better, but at least Len didn’t offer up the alternative like a turkey dinner.

“No.” Barry growls; normally when the kid gets like this, he has all the threatening demeanor of a wet kitten, but tonight there is no humor to be found. Lightning crackles with clear intent in his eyes, every press of hands and fingers into Len’s skin is done with the intent of leaving marks, and the kid obviously can’t touch Len hard enough, fast enough…

Forty-six is too young for him to have a heart attack, right?

“Barry…” he swallows, willing his voice to not crack, “Baby, come on…you’re acting like…like I led her on.”

Finally, _finally_ , Barry slows his pace and Len can catch his breath again. “…No, you didn’t.” the kid’s voice is soft, the growl dulling to a barely-there bite at the back of his throat, and a small grin tugs at the side of his mouth, “…You pushed her away.”

Let the record reflect, Len _shoved_ the girl away. She looked barely legal, drunk off her skimpy ass, and clearly all about having a wild time with a stranger. Let the record _clearly_ reflect Len does not appreciate being manhandled by giggly little girls who, unquestionably, are _not_ his type and wouldn’t be his type even if they were sober as a judge. The only problem might have come about in that this girl obviously wasn’t planning to take ‘no’ for an answer, but then Barry crowded right into his space and put his hand on Len’s waistband in a gesture that could have been transparently received from outer space.

“Yes, I pushed her away. I didn’t want anything to do with her. No consent for physical contact was given. Now, will you please let me up?” he lightly pushes a hand against Barry’s shoulder for good measure. If he’s allowed to call the shots tonight, Len is confident he can at least wring this misplaced jealousy out of the kid through more creative means.

…wrong thing to say. Again. He can’t catch a break worth a damn tonight.

“I’m not done with you yet.” Barry throws a leg over Len’s hips while he pulls his sweater overhead and pitches it carelessly across the room, “I have plans for you tonight.”

…Forty-six is too young for a heart attack…right?

***

It is singularly amazing how deceptive Barry can be to the general public. They look at this baby-faced CSI and think he’s the most innocent creature ever put on this earth. Golden boy all around with a big heart and easy grin and enough love to wrap around the globe twice. The halo doesn’t even need polishing – it polishes itself on the daily.

Pretty hard to reckon that dainty image with the possessive little maniac currently sucking Len halfway to a coma.

“Barry…” Len isn’t sure he’s capable of much beyond the kid’s name right now, but damned if he won’t try, “Barry…baby, come on…ease up with that. I don’t…have your recovery time – or lack thereof – remember?”

Barry simply hums, which creates two new problems: first, the vibrations around his cock are just unfair to deal with to any degree of dignity (to say nothing of the fact Barry can vibrate any part of his body that he damn well pleases); second, the lack of response plainly shows a lack of caring whether or not Len can last under Barry’s mouth.

The final conclusion, without exception, is that Barry does not plan on being the submissive one tonight. Len’s suspicions are proven twice – first when he comes down Barry’s throat, and then when he hears the lube cap pop open without the bottle being anywhere near his own hands.

“I know she’s not your type.” Barry says, ever so matter-of-factly, like he doesn’t have two fingers working inside his lover, “But she puts her hands on you. And no one is allowed to put their hands on you. No one…except me.”

And to think, everyone assumes Len is the possessive partner. They have no goddamn clue.

“ _Barry_ …” Len’s fingers tighten in the sheets as a third finger joins the first two, and all three start vibrating because of course Barry just can’t help himself. He feels arousal stir in his belly again – a reaction against which he is entirely helpless. The kid swallows whatever he was going to say next with a kiss, tongue hungrily licking into Len’s mouth.

“You feel that?” Barry whispers, barely breaking the kiss to speak, and Len musters the best glare possible for the moment – _yes_ , he can feel it, just like he can feel it every other time Barry decides to play that little parlor trick and make Len feel like he’s in bed with a toy, “That’s all for you, babe. There’s no one else in this world who makes me feel the way you do. Who makes me want to touch them like this. Only you.”

It isn’t as though Len’s ego needs stroking, but he isn’t about to complain if the kid wants to do so. Like, every chance he gets. It’s becoming a habit, both in and out of the bedroom. Barry drops compliments and little praises left and right: in the casual moments sitting on the couch, in the kitchen when Len proves he’s a much better cook than Barry can ever hope to be, and when they’re chasing each other around a bank or jewelry store.

For the latter, it’s probably a good thing most surveillance video doesn’t have audio recording. The cops wouldn’t know what to do with half the comments exchanged between the Flash and Captain Cold these days.

“Enough teasing, Barry.” He grits out, fisting the sheets again.

“What’s that you’re always telling me?” Barry grins, “Teases don’t deliver…I do.”

“Here’s another one I’m always telling you,” Len fires back, “Payback’s a bitch.”

“I’m counting on it.” The kid is _purring_ in his ear like a satisfied cat. Half out of his mind with lust, body throbbing and much too hot, Len is simply not capable of giving him a good glare for the smugness but can muster a word to communicate his feelings on the matter.

“Brat.”

“Your brat.” Barry withdraws his fingers and drags a gentle touch up Len’s inner thigh. The gentleness is, ultimately, the only real trump card Barry can play against him. All his speed, all his little metahuman tricks, can’t produce the same reaction as a single tender touch. Len hates that Barry knows this about him, how easily he can gain almost complete control with one intentional touch, and by the same token, the kid never entirely misuses the power Len has handed over to him. He uses it in the bedroom, sure, and he definitely uses it in the quiet moments, but never in the public’s eye. Never in a place or time wherein Len would be rendered vulnerable among strangers.

That being said…Barry still uses it every chance he gets, and Len would sooner shoot himself with his cold gun than admit how much that simple fact gets to him.

“Hey,” Barry noses his cheek before kissing the same place, “still with me?”

“You got a better place for me to be?”

Barry just smirks and drapes Len’s thighs wide across his hips. The kid’s obviously too impatient to make the initial push slow, instead shoving himself in with one smooth stroke, but is gracious enough to cool it for a couple minutes while Len adjusts. It doesn’t take nearly as long now as the first time did – a little fact Len is exceptionally grateful for and even more proud of.

“And just what are you smirking about?” Len doesn’t like how breathless he sounds, but it’s a cross he will have to bear for the rest of the night.

Barry doesn’t have the decency to look remotely abashed at being caught with that insufferable smirk on his smug face. “Just amazes me…” his hips roll heavily into the older man, and Len grips Barry’s biceps hard as the motion punches a low sound out of him, “She actually thought she could satisfy you.”

Len had a very good response to that, but apparently Barry’s patience – never his greatest virtue – has run dry because he starts up a pace that toes the line of punishing and mind-blowing. This is where Barry has learned, much too quickly and entirely too efficiently, how to completely shatter Len’s defenses. It’s one thing to take the kid apart himself, piece by piece over an extended period of hours, but this is precisely why Len can’t bottom out for Barry on a regular basis. It’s too good. Too much. Barry strips him down to bare bones, vulnerable and raw and entirely exposed, and he’s worked his way under Len’s skin that he craves it. Hungers for it.

Letting Barry call the shots in bed, manipulate Len to his liking, and thoroughly claim him…it’s a dangerous place to be. A place where they both – Len possibly a little more than Barry, but he won’t claim that as a legitimate truth – are brought to face their brokenness and how their individual broken pieces fit so neatly together. The portrait isn’t pretty, but it’s theirs. Only theirs. Each time they end up here, Len is pushed a little closer to the brink – a point of from which he is confident there would be no return, should he finally take the plunge.

“You…” Len swallows, forcing his brain to remember how words work, “You have got to – _ah_ – stop it with the inse-curity,” his voice breaks mid-word when Barry, no doubt offended that Len is trying to have a conversation, lets his entire body vibrate, “You’re going to give…give _me_ a complex. Like – _Jesus, kid_ – you think this…h-has an expiration date.”

Barry pauses enough to let Len catch his breath. It won’t last, so his lungs greedily suck in as much air as possible before it’s all punched out of him again.

“That’s not true.” Barry whispers, “I know this…we don’t have an expiration date.” He leans down, tender once more, and kisses along Len’s hairline for a lazy moment, “But she’s not the first to try and paw her way into your pants, and I hate it. You’re _mine_ , Len. Mine, and I can’t stand the way girls like that just think they put their hands on what’s _mine_.”

“Barry—”

“I _love_ you, damn it! You’re the only person in this world I get to truly call mine, and it makes me so angry when—”

“Barry!” Len’s hand shoots up and clamps around the kid’s mouth before he can keep shooting off, “Barry, stop…just calm down, okay? I mean it this time.”

As soon as he’s convinced that Barry took a couple calming breaths, the hand covering his mouth slowly backtracks into his hair, tugging gently in the way he knows Barry loves. Let it be known, Len is not the only one who is entirely wrecked by tenderness – and, though this qualifies under the banner of things he will not admit at gunpoint, there are few things in the world that bring as much pleasure and satisfaction as enveloping Barry with tenderness, with the worship he deserves and so rarely gets, at least not in the way the kid really needs. “I am yours, okay?” he whispers, “And you’re mine. No empty-headed coed is going to change that.”

“I just—”

“Hush.” Len emphasizes the point with a kiss, “Fuck me. Make love to me. Whichever you need right now, do it. Then we’ll discuss your insecurity issues.”

Right on cue, the word choice never fails. “I’ll give you insecurity issues…” Barry growls, albeit without the frenzied heat as before, and slams his hips back with unfair precision. Len’s vision briefly whites out, and when he comes to, Barry has set a pace that, at the very least, is waking up half the neighbors and at the worst is going to break the bed.

For his part, Len lets himself indulge with hands dragging everywhere – every inch of Barry’s body that can possibly be reached. It’s messy and uncoordinated, but frankly…that’s almost an appropriate metaphor for their relationship. Even on the best of days, it can be messy, and on the worst days – the days when they fight over something stupid and Barry stubbornly refuses to even look at Len until push comes to shove and Len drops to his knees to use his mouth in ways that leave the kid boneless and entirely willing to make amends after seeing stars – it’s certainly an uncoordinated mess that, in the strictest sense, really shouldn’t work half as well as it does.

Some would argue it doesn’t really work at all. And those people can take a hike of a cliff.

“Fuck… _fuck_ , Len, you feel so _fucking good_ …” it never fails to amaze just how filthy Barry’s mouth can get in the heat of the moment, and tonight has been no exception with the obscenities that have been rolling off his tongue and directly into Len’s ear, “Oh god…Len, baby, I’m…”

“Do it.” Len mumbles into the sweaty roll of a shoulder, “Go on, Scarlet…make me yours. All yours.”

The word choice, sometimes, is almost too easy. But, then again, that’s to be expected when they’ve been doing this – in and out of the bedroom – as long as they have. Len knows the combination to Barry’s safe, and cracking it has become second nature at this point.

Barry dissolves into a string of expletives and breathless versions of Len’s name, hips stuttering into an uneven pace, with his fingers white-knuckling a grip on the sheets to the point that Len has minor concerns about the fabric going up in flames just from the friction. Minor, because his brain is put to better use focusing on just how good it feels when Barry finally pumps out his release with shaky moans and a few final weak thrusts.

The adrenaline rush is already fading for the kid, and Len doesn’t really fancy having Barry’s weight drop dead center on his sensitive regions, so he shrugs Barry lightly to the side and addresses the matter with a few practiced motions and lets himself moan with another orgasm. He’s going to feel this in the morning, in more ways than one, but the perks of being ‘self-employed’ is the ability to call in sick whenever he damn well feels like it.

***

It takes about thirty minutes, but some sense of feeling finally returns to their lower extremities and they manage to fumble into the shower. For once, Barry manages to behave himself, though Len suspects – judging from the way Barry wordlessly leans into his chest and lets Len handle all the clean-up himself – the emotional rush has sapped him entirely and dampened even his notorious recovery time. He seems more content to let Len massage the soap into his skin, humming softly when Len kneads some tension out of the muscles in his lower back, than get frisky.

Len has a thing against getting back into soiled bed sheets after scrubbing himself clean in the shower, so he negotiates Barry into a pair of sweats, borrows another pair for himself, and stretches them out across the couch. They’ll change the bedding tomorrow.

“So,” Len finally speaks after almost an hour of silence, “are we at that point then?”

“Hmm?”

He brushes some damp hair out of Barry’s face, “You don’t want people pawing at me in public, want them to know I’m yours…there’s only one real way to make sure of that.”

Barry adjusts himself upright, balanced on one arm, to get a better look at Len’s face. “…Are we?” he licks his lips nervously, “I mean…Lisa and Mick already know,” he’s kind enough to not mention that they only found out because Lisa is nosy and Mick doesn’t appreciate the concept of locked doors and kicked his way in one night to catch an eyeful, “and there’s no way Cisco and Caitlin don’t at least suspect something – especially after tonight.”

“And you already told your sister.” Len adds, combing fingers through Barry’s hair until the kid settles his cheek at Len’s shoulder, “So that just leaves the rest of the general population.”

“I should give some speech about how my enemies will come after you. Try to use you against me.” he can feel Barry’s grin through the thin t-shirt, “…Kinda want to see them try.”

“That makes two of us.” Len smirks, then tips his head back to catch a better glimpse of Barry’s face, “But I think we know your enemies are going to be the least of the problem.”

“I know.”

“…Still in?”

Ever the romantic sap, Barry’s hand drags off Len’s stomach to fit their fingers together in a pointed gesture, “I love you.” His voice is soft, almost fragile, but not enough to suggest a lack of determination to forge onward come hell or high water, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and no none – no matter how ugly they try to get, just to make a point – is going to change that. So,” again, he lifts his chin, big brown eyes studying Len intently, “are _you_ still in?”

Tender as the moment is, Len can’t help a tiny smirk from crawling up his lips, “Should I pop the question?”

“Are you going to?”

“If I was, this might go down as the least romantic proposal in history.”

Barry smirks and leans forward to nose at the stubble along Len’s jaw, “You just let me screw your brains out while I was a jealous little prima donna.” (It’s always so refreshing to hear Barry acknowledge his own shortcomings, even if it steals a perfect opportunity for Len to do so), “For you, that’s practically roses and chocolates over a candlelit dinner.”

With some minor adjustments, Len accommodates Barry’s silent decision to wriggle out and drape himself fully over Len’s chest, one arm bracing himself upright while the other settles into a favorite place along the older man’s jaw. “But if it’s still too romantic for you to handle,” a grin tugs along Barry’s mouth, “ _I_ could be the one to pop the question.”

“Like hell.” Len answers succinctly, one arm thrown tight around Barry’s waist and the other folded behind his head for additional support (the kid has got to get a better couch than this yard sale relic), “I’m a thief, remember? I’d just as soon kidnap you from work and drive you straight to Vegas.”

“…are you gonna do that?”

An eyebrow lifts high to match the wicked grin on Len’s face, “Now, now, sweetheart…if I _told_ you, then you would be expecting it.”

“You _did_ just tell me.”

“I did not tell you anything. I offered a purely hypothetical situation with no clear ties to future events.”

“You know what?” Barry plops himself fully across Len’s chest, chin perched high near the clavicle, “I take it back. I may be jealous to a fault, but _you_ are the prima donna.”

“And you still love me anyway, my tenderhearted little do-gooder.”

Barry smacks the hand currently petting under his chin, but then – just to prove Len’s point – brings it to his mouth and kisses his ring finger.

**Author's Note:**

> Full credit to my beloved Tempest for coining the _The smut is strong with these two_ tag. I will establish that as a tag on Archive - I swear I will.
> 
> Happy Independence Day weekend - comments and kudos are love. :)


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